


Little Yellow Tags: Part 5

by lurkdusoleil



Series: Little Yellow Tags [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Eating Disorders, M/M, Romance, Skank!Blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurkdusoleil/pseuds/lurkdusoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine's got a fascination with the only other out gay kid at school--and he's pretty sure the interest is reciprocated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Yellow Tags: Part 5

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for hints of depression, possible eating disorder, self-neglect, and a lot of choppy thoughts from a seriously impulsive teenager.

It’s Blaine’s first day, and he’s already being checked out.

“Watch out, Anderson,” Mack chuckles. “Hummel’s got his wandering eye on you.”

Blaine glances over his shoulder. She’s either referring to the short girl with the Nose (capital letter deserved) or the tall boy with the Ass (capital letter also deserved). Considering she used the masculine pronoun, it’s most likely the latter.

“Better be careful,” Sheila sneers, pulling out a flavored cigarette that makes Blaine wrinkle his nose. “He already turned one guy to the rainbow side--”

“Too late for me, then,” Blaine snaps, glaring hard at the group where they lounge around on the dirty benches. “He must be pretty powerful with his queer voodoo--he must’ve known I was coming years ago.”

They all stare at him, except for Quinn, who laughs.

“You guys seriously didn’t know that Anderson’s cockhungry?” she asks lightly. “He picked staring at the football players over the cheerleaders. And he’s wearing nail polish.”

“Nail polish doesn’t make a guy gay,” Mack protests, but Blaine snickers.

“How about fucking a guy over the bathroom sink at a gay bar?” he asks, winking at her. She raises an eyebrow.

“Oh really?”

“He did go to an all-boys’ school.”

“Must’ve been heaven--”

“So I’m guessing that means you and Hummel are going to hook up?” Ronnie suggests. “He’s the only one here who fits the bill.”

“I didn’t realize I was limited to what McKinley has to offer,” Blaine says. “And besides, you said he turned someone, so wouldn’t I just be able to snap my fingers fabulously and have my pick?”

“Ignore them,” Quinn says, sauntering over when the others glare and turn away pointedly. She pulls out a cigarette and holds it up with a pointed look. Blaine pulls out his lighter and flicks it for her, waiting until she’s lit before he stuffs it away, tilting his head at her questioningly. “I was in Glee Club with Hummel two years straight--no voodoo to speak of, unless you count getting his junk into those tight little jeans he wears.”

Blaine smirks. “I do count that, as a matter of fact.”  


Quinn full-out laughs, a pretty sound that’s alien coming from her bitter image. Blaine smiles at it, knowing that she’s probably exactly the same as he is--spoiled kid brought low, looking for a way to protect himself. He’s just been at it longer than she has, because he’s smart enough not to laugh like that with someone he barely knows. Laughing is honest--there’s nothing honest about this life.

“Who was he?”

“Who, Hummel?”

Blaine shakes his head. “The guy they think he ‘turned.’”

Quinn grimaces, and Blaine’s immediately far more intrigued than he probably should be.

“He transferred out, end of last year,” Quinn says, monotone. “Name was Karofsky. Jock, big, dumb. Thought he just hated gays, and Kurt was the only one he could take it out on. Only one out of the closet. Turns out he hated Kurt because Kurt was everything he wanted. And I don’t mean he wanted to _be_ him--football coach walked into the locker room one day, heard Karofsky threatening to kill someone. Turned the corner, and there he was, pinning Kurt to the wall. And he wasn’t beating him up,” she ended suggestively.

“What the fuck,” Blaine spits automatically. He’s not a fan of swearing, generally, does it as little as he can get away with, but with that horrific image burned into his head, it falls out of his mouth more naturally than it ever has.

Quinn shrugs, but Blaine can see she doesn’t like what she had to say.

“Closeted jerk can’t come out, but he has a crush on someone he’s supposed to hate. He got angry on top of being incurably horny, and that combination didn’t do anyone any favors.”

Blaine feels nauseous. Memories of Smythe, of rough hands and insistent, unwanted lips, drift through his mind, and he spits to the side before pulling out a smoke of his own.

“You said he transferred, though,” Blaine points out, pocketing his lighter again and blowing out a stream of smoke. “He wasn’t expelled?”

“In this town?” Quinn laughs again, but it’s bitter, hard. “Nah.”

“Fuck that.”

“I hear you. Anyway, he didn’t come back the next day. Everyone found out what happened. Probably didn’t want to risk going to a school that knew he was panting over the resident queer, so off he went.”

“And Kurt?”

“Didn’t seem to phase him one bit,” Quinn says. “Came back with his head held high, ignored the whispers and went on with his life. He’d already been putting up with it forever, he must have been relieved it was over anyway.”

Blaine suspects that that’s not entirely true, that Quinn is just letting things slide, but he’s not surprised. That’s how Skanks work. Ignore, sneer, gossip, ignore again. Don’t let anyone see you care. But she told him, and she called him by his first name--she cares about Kurt, in some way.

He keeps smoking in silence, staring out at the football players again, but not really seeing them. Instead, his thoughts circle back to the attractive boy who’d been staring at him earlier, who had a few secrets of his own.

\--

It’s not the last time Kurt stares at him over that first week of school. Blaine catches him doing it whenever they cross paths--and maybe Blaine’s made a point of figuring out Kurt’s normal paths. Why shouldn’t he want to know the only other guy who’s out of the closet? They have something in common.

Of course, whoever’s with Kurt immediately startles and starts whispering if they see him walking by. It draws Kurt’s eyes away, at least, so Blaine can get a better look himself, but he wonders what they’re saying, and if they’ve convinced Kurt that he’s bad news yet. It hasn’t stopped him staring, and not in a bad way, from what Blaine’s caught, at least not yet. He must be seeing something he likes in Blaine, and Blaine certainly likes what he’s seen so far.

But it’s just surface. Appearances are nothing, Blaine knows that intimately. And he’s got just enough information about Kurt to know that it’s not enough. He’s curious--he wants to know more, know deeper. He has a feeling they _do_ have a lot in common, when their hair and their clothes and their friends are taken  away\--a situation he can’t help imagining in more than one way

He just can’t figure out a way to approach him without looking like a creep. He’s done enough casual gossiping to know something about Kurt, and he doesn’t trust anyone outside his little Glee Club. And Blaine’s got no intentions of putting a huge fault into his image like that when he’s already got hairline cracks forming around all his questions.

And then Kurt walks into the girl’s bathroom.

Blaine had been planning to smoke in there on his bathroom break taken to end final period early. It’s not used often because it’s not as big or as nice as the bathrooms on the other side of the school, which were recently renovated. And it smells better than any boy’s bathroom, new or old. So he wandered out of Chemistry with a pass twenty minutes into the class, and never returned.

He didn’t get around to smoking. He got a text from Mel, and he’d spent the remaining time tapping messages back and forth with her, hearing about her adventures with bartending back in LA, sitting casually on the tank of one of the toilets, his boots propped on the lid, hunched over his phone.

  
He had just decided to pull out his smoke when the bell rang, and that plan was dashed. He might as well just go outside and not risk suspension or expulsion when the door out was about ten yards away--

  
And then the door opened, shut, and locked, all before Blaine could even hop down from his perch.

  
He very, very quietly opens the stall and steps out, aided in his stealth by the running water from the sink. And there he is--Kurt, bent over the sink, running water through his hair, gossamer thin undershirt stretched across his shoulders, suspenders hanging from his pants, framing his on-display ass in green plaid pants. The remainder of his clothes are on the sink next to him, covered in red chunks of melting ice. Ah, slushie. Quinn had warned him, told him that since the jocks had been talking about him being gay he could be a target, like Glee Club--like Kurt. And from what he’s seen of Kurt’s wardrobe so far, he wouldn’t leave school wearing _that_ , he must have contingency plans--

  
Blaine walks over and peeks into Kurt’s bag quickly--and sure enough, there’s a sweater right there, ready to replace his ruined clothes. Blaine doesn’t think beyond the next moment--he snags the sweater up and, after a brief moment of panic where he realizes he didn’t think the logistics of his through, shoves it in the back of his pants and up under his mesh undershirt, keeping the soft fabric against his skin and out of sight under the looser tshirt and jacket on top. There. An excuse to stick around, maybe beyond the bathroom, if he can find a way--

Kurt turns off the water and fumbles blindly for paper towels, and Blaine takes a chance, pulling out a bunch and handing them over. Kurt startles, blinking his eyes open and stumbling back, staring wide.

  
“Holy shit.”

  
\--

And somehow, Blaine gets everything he wanted, and ends up frustrated anyway. He finds out more about Kurt, finds out that he doesn’t trust anyone unless he’s got no other choice, and even then he resists. He finds out that Kurt’s nipples are pink and tight when he’s wet and cold, and that his undershirt doesn’t hide that fact _at all_. He finds out that Kurt looks amazing in leather, and sings Broadway and taps his fingers on the wheel of his car slightly out of time with the music when he drives, even if his voice matches perfectly. He finds out that Kurt is so... _angry_. So defensive, so standoffish. And everything Quinn has said makes sense, and it’s just like Kurt has his own gravity field, and the closer Blaine gets, the stronger the pull, but he can’t tell if he’s a star or a black hole just yet. If he’ll be crushed, or burned alive--or maybe just end up in orbit.

  
So he leaves Kurt’s sweater in his car after storming out, inexplicably hurt that he ended up seeing something beneath Kurt’s cool, composed exterior, and Kurt saw nothing below his. He knows he has no _right_ to feel hurt, Kurt doesn’t owe him anything, they don’t know each other, there’s no _reason_ to want to demand that Kurt _see_ him, but he feels it anyway. Maybe he’d just gotten his hopes up, maybe he’d let his feelings get the best of him _again_. Mel would be ashamed, he opened himself up and got himself hurt, and no one could even _see_ that he had. He’s too good at this, and not good enough, in different ways. And maybe he should be proud of that in a way, it certainly holds up the mysterious part of the image _beautifully_ , wouldn’t some lonely halfwit teenage girl _love_ to discover and unravel the dichotomy, his tortured spirit, he could be a goddamn young adult novel, someone make millions off of his  cliche bullshit, quick--

But he can’t just leave it that way. When he tries to shut the car door, when he tries to end it like that, something twists in his gut, like his entire body is trying to tell him that he’s making the wrong decision. He can’t imagine just walking away now and not agonizing over the _what_ _ifs_. It’ll stay with him, it’ll haunt him, and the impulse is too strong. Blaine has never been very good at resisting impulses--it makes him a good Skank, a good performer, a good _liar_ , in this lifestyle of constant improvisation.

Lying is exhausting, though. He could see that same tiredness in Kurt’s eyes. And maybe that’s what this is.

He leaves his phone number, and a pithy note. Something to draw Kurt back in. _Something_. He needs to take one last chance, one last ditch effort. And then, if nothing comes of it, he can move on. He can forget the pull, he can cut the tie, however he can.

  
\--

But the next morning, his phone buzzes. 

  
_I thought you didn’t commit petty thievery?_

  
Blaine grins, cannot help himself, and as he slips out of bed and hangs out his window to smoke without tainting his room, he types a reply.

  
_You’re clearly a terrible influence on me._

  
He doesn’t get a reply until he’s in the kitchen eating cereal, almost finished and ready to take a damn shower already so he can go get coffee to wake up, who the hell is _up_ at nine o’ clock on a Saturday--

_You should probably stay away then. I could lead you into all sorts of criminal activity._

  
Blaine grins again, and decides to make Kurt wait this time. He hops into the shower, washing quickly before he hopes back out, checking his phone just in case--fruitlessly, as it turns out. He ends up waiting until he’s fully dried and dressed and ready to head out before he sends his reply.

_It’s too late for me now,_ he writes. _I’m already influenced. I’m on my way to hold up the coffee shop as we speak._

_It’s my responsibility to keep an eye on you, then. Lima Bean?_

  
Blaine blinks at his phone, at the quick response and the suggestion. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself as he walks out, smiling and responding readily.

_You’re trying to beat me to my target, aren’t you?_

_You know my methods. Clearly a star pupil._

_Maybe student and teacher should team up. No coffee would be safe._

  
_Why do you think I’m in my car?_

  
_Texting while driving is dangerous, Kurt._

_I’m in the parking lot, doofus. You’re taking forever._

_Forgive my lack of motorized transportation._

At least he doesn’t live too far. He doesn’t get a response by the time he walks into the parking lot, spotting Kurt hopping out of his vehicle, clearly having seen Blaine before Blaine saw him.

“Was your license revoked after your last getaway?” Kurt asks.

  
Blaine decides to keep up the joking instead of telling the truth, which is that he wants to wait to buy a car till he has at least the first half of his trust fund at eighteen--still six months away--so that he doesn’t dip into the allowance Cooper gives him. It’s a big allowance, but he takes care of everything himself, and he doesn’t want to call Cooper asking for a car or a loan or something.

“They won’t let me have a license, actually,” he says. “Apparently smoking in the DMV is frowned upon.”

  
“You didn’t.”

 

“Didn’t I?”

“No,” Kurt says with certainty, leading Blaine into the Lima Bean and into the short line. “You didn’t.” He approaches the counter. “Medium non-fat mocha please?”

Blaine raises an eyebrow and steps up, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and pulling out a ten.

“And a medium drip.”  
  


Before Kurt can protest, he hands over the bill with a quick, “Keep the change.” Kurt eyes him, but he walks over to the other end of the counter before he can hear anything about it, waiting for their orders. Thankfully it’s not busy enough to have to give their names--he just picks up their order, grabbing Kurt’s as well, before leading them to a table.  
  


“You didn’t have to--”

“--but I did,” Blaine interrupts, grabbing a few packets of cinnamon and sugar before seating himself.

 

They’re barely halfway through their coffee when someone comments.  
  


“Hummel’s found a butt buddy.”  
  


It’s a jock, clearly there at the request of the cheerleader on his arm. She giggles at his comment, as do the two other jocks behind them. Blaine wonders why they need a posse to get _coffee_ , it’s not even a school day. Why are they in their _jackets_?  
  


“Ignore them,” Kurt hisses, apparently seeing the look on Blaine’s face. Blaine looks over at him, and it feels like an important moment.  
  


He has a choice.   
  


He can do as Kurt says, take the high road. Risk them thinking he’s weak, risk them continuing on with their attack, going further with it. Risk it happening _more_ because he loses the intimidation factor he has. Risk Kurt getting more flak because he _listened_ to Kurt and people will think he’s on a leash.

Or he can ignore Kurt. He can put the jock in his place. That way, he risks Kurt getting angry at him. He risks losing Kurt entirely. He risks having to keep the mask on for the rest of his high school life, maybe beyond that, if he has no one to share what’s beneath it with. He risks staying lonely and tired and never getting a second of rest. He risks closing off completely--he knows he’s already damaged that way, he barely shares anything, he can’t communicate well. He’s out of practice. He doesn’t like to talk about important things now. It’s easier to deal with on his own. And that’s what he’ll be doing if he doesn’t listen to Kurt--he’ll continue that, maybe go down that road irreversibly.  
  


Blaine thinks over the options quickly. He gets a bad feeling about both--that twisting feeling in his stomach again, that urge to _do something_ but not what he thinks about doing. That impulse,  that need to avoid a future of _what if_.  
  


He looks over at Kurt, who looks at him like he’s just _so tired_. Like he expects this, like it’s his life. And Blaine is overcome with how _wrong_ that is. Kurt deserves to be protected, to be cared about. He doesn’t deserve to live in a world where people are divided into those who abuse him and those who let it happen.

“You’re better than that, Kurt,” Blaine says, quiet but firm. “You don’t have to let them step all over you.”

He hopes that’s enough, because he stands up then, walking over to the jock and his group. They all stare at him like he’s a new, disgusting species, oozing all over their shoes and confusing the hell out of them in the process. He grins.  
  


“Have you guys ever had anal sex?”  
  


It’s clearly not the question they’re expecting.

“Don’t talk to us about your gross--”

“Oh, I’m not,” Blaine cuts across. “I was just telling Kurt that I had a theory that all the football players let the cheerleaders fuck them up the ass, and he didn’t know, so I figured I’d just ask you guys.”  
  


“Excuse me?” the leader says, stepping away from his girlfriend and getting into Blaine’s space.  
  


“I’m just saying,” he says, holding up his hands. “I mean, you’re here. Clearly she’s the boss. And that means you bottom, right?”  
  


“And that means Hummel’s your boss,” one of the other ones says. “You take it from him?”

“I wonder if the whole school knows you’re curious about how I top,” Blaine hears. And then Kurt’s next to him, eyebrow raised, arms crossed. “I bet some of the Cheerios would be really interested to hear that. Santana, maybe.”

The football players all go pale, and Blaine makes a note to ask about Santana later. But just then, he smiles. They’re clearly not ready to face the two of them combined.  
  


“Whatever, man,” the leader says, tugging on his girlfriend’s arm. “C’mon, we’re leaving.”  
  


“But I haven’t gotten my--”

“I don’t care about your latte,” he says, and she gapes at him, offended. Blaine smirks--that’s going to be on JBI’s blog on Monday, he’s sure...  
  


He doesn’t hear the rest, though. He places a hand on Kurt’s back and guides him gently back to their table.

“That was--”

Blaine waits, holding Kurt’s chair out for him to sit down. Kurt looks at him in abject surprise, but he sits without complaint.  


“That was what?” Blaine asks finally, seating himself across from Kurt again, finishing up his coffee in a few gulps. It’s just this side of too cold, and he can always get another one, and then he can go up and get Kurt one, full fat this time, maybe a pastry, too, because the lines on Kurt’s collarbone are beautiful but too stark, he can’t recall ever seeing Kurt eat, even at lunch--

He barely realizes that his thoughts have all gone to taking care of Kurt in little ways. He just knows that the thoughts feel _right_ , feel good. He wants Kurt to stop fighting him and start fighting back at those who want to hurt him. He wants Kurt to be strong enough, to _feel_ strong, because he finally has someone supporting him. God, if only he’d been there before Karofsky, he could’ve _done_ something, given Kurt the advice he needed, helped him realize that he’s worth the effort before too much damage had been done--  
  


“It’s just been a long time since someone did that for me,” Kurt says, breaking into Blaine’s thoughts. “And not that I don’t appreciate it, but I am a big boy.”

“I bet you are,” Blaine says, smirking, and Kurt rolls his eyes. Blaine laughs a little bit, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Thank you,” Kurt adds simply, tipping the last of his coffee into his mouth before smiling over at Blaine hesitantly.

  
Blaine decides to act.

  
“I’m getting another one,” he says. “Be right back.”

Kurt waits for him, and doesn’t complain when he returns with another mocha, nor when he clearly, by the narrowing of his eyes, realizes it’s not non-fat.

It’s a victory for Blaine. And it’s only a start.

\--

Blaine wonders, over the next week, what Kurt would be like as a Skank. If they were younger, if Blaine were more like Mel, if Kurt wasn’t already perfect...he’d teach him. He’d show him that there are ways to protect yourself, that it’s possible to keep the world away. He thinks Kurt would be hot as a Skank--pink streaks in his hair, or maybe green to bring out the traces of green in his eyes. An eyebrow ring maybe, or one through his cute nose. A tattoo--Blaine could’ve taken him to get one, gotten one with him, and he thinks Kurt would look good with one on the side of his neck, something graceful to match the curve of it, or something to highlight how strong his arms really are. Blaine could get a third one, something to match, something that would accentuate the two he’s already got--a staff on his left bicep with the notes for his favorite song, and a blackbird on his left shoulder blade. He might make that into a sleeve, he’s got ideas, he’s always wanted to get the drama masks, thought about making them both frown--maybe he can convince Kurt to get them both smiling--

  
But he wouldn’t. Kurt’s not a Skank. He won’t _be_ a Skank. Maybe he’d streak his hair for fashion, maybe he’d wear something from Blaine’s closet to provoke the people at school, but he’ll never have to live that lie. And Blaine’s kind of glad of that, but he wants to make it safer for Kurt to be himself. Wants to make it _easier_ for Kurt to be  himself, and to be...better.

Because there are things that don’t feel right. They’ve been hanging out, going out for coffee before and after school, having lunch together, and Kurt even joined him outside for a smoke and made fun of him the whole time the other day. But he’d gone with him. And Blaine’s getting to _know_ Kurt, and he’s seeing that Kurt...Kurt doesn’t feel right all the time.

  
He barely eats. It’s a huge concern, because Blaine’s never seen him eat more than dry vegetables. He seems to live on coffee, and he didn’t notice because Kurt’s actually got a pretty sturdy frame, but his muscles are too wiry and his bones stand out a little too much. His cheeks are hollow, his eyes are sunken, and he looks more and more tired every time Blaine sees him--Blaine’s not sure he’s sleeping. And sometimes his texts are strange, he takes back things he says and quickly recants anything that’s the least bit complimentary about himself, even if said in jest. He brushes off Blaine’s little compliments, too, even if he’s just saying he likes a shirt.

Blaine’s hardly one to judge behavior, and he doesn’t know Kurt too well yet, but...he worries. Kurt doesn’t seem _healthy_.

But Kurt’s seeing something back, and Blaine can tell. Kurt keeps spending time with him, and his questions are probing. Blaine brushes them off more often than not, but Kurt smiles just a little too knowingly sometimes, even if he doesn’t push and never gets his answers. Kurt’s...getting to _know_ him. And he’s allowing Blaine _in_ , even if it’s only letting Blaine buy their coffee and making sure he doesn’t order non-fat, or letting him grab them a pastry or a sandwich with it, or letting him look at the clothes in his closet, when he ends up visiting his house at the end of the week before he goes off with Rachel for a mixer for a college he wants to apply to.

On Saturday, though, things get out of hand.

  
Something has set Kurt off. He’s agitated when he answers the door, letting Blaine inside and babbling about nonsense until they get up to his room, something about his stepmother and father being away and his stepbrother and Rachel, he’s talking so _fast_ \--

  
“Kurt,” Blaine calls, interrupting him mid-stream, when the bedroom door closes behind them. “Stop!”

  
Kurt shuts up immediately, his eyes wide, breathing heavily. He presses a hand to his forehead.

  
“I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “I think I need coffee--do you want to go--”

“No,” Blaine says firmly, grabbing Kurt’s shoulders to stop him leaving the room. “Sit down, you’re freaking out.”

Kurt sits, his mouth thinning into a line as he looks up at Blaine.

  
“I am not _freaking out_ \--”

  
“Yes, you are,” Blaine says. He lightly wraps his fingers around Kurt’s wrists, and he can feel his pulse fluttering beneath clammy skin. He kneels down before Kurt. “Kurt, what’s going on? You look like you’re about to have a panic attack--”

  
“I’m--I’m _fine_!” Kurt blurts, wrenching his wrists away with more force than necessary--Blaine lets him go readily. “I just--I wanted to pick out an outfit for Monday, it’s important, I need to make the right impression--”

  
“What’s going on Monday?” Blaine asks calmly. He grabs Kurt’s hands again, and Kurt lets him, trembling faintly.  
  


“I’m...I’m running for student class president,” Kurt says, his voice finally slowing down, equalizing somehow. His breathing shallows, eases, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in _years_. “I need something extra on my application for  NYADA, the other people applying are too good, they are _way_ above my level--”

  
“Bullshit,” Blaine says, squeezing Kurt’s hands. It’s worth a curse, to convince him. “I heard you sing, remember? They’d take you if you came fresh from being raised by wolves, okay? You’re amazing.”

  
Kurt inhales sharply through his nose, a tight little sound, as he stares down at Blaine incredulously.

“Really?” he asks. “I mean...there were plenty of guys there just like me, and they were great--”

“They aren’t you,” Blaine says certainly.

  
Kurt looks doubtful.

“You don’t believe me,” Blaine points out, and Kurt sighs deeply, closing his eyes and hanging his head.

  
“No.”

  
Blaine stands up and licks his lips, casting around for an idea of how to convince Kurt, but his head is buzzing. What the hell can he say? He wants to step in and take control of this, let Kurt see how great he is, let him see that he doesn’t have to starve himself and stay up at night and mainline himself with caffeine and doubt himself and stress about _everything_ all by himself. Because Blaine knows what being lonely is like, and Kurt shouldn’t have to face that--he could _stop_ facing it, if Blaine had the goddamn courage to take a chance--

  
He feels like he’s vibrating. He needs a fucking cigarette, he’s losing control of himself--

He ambles over to the window and opens it, sitting himself on the ledge as he pulls out a smoke and lights it. Kurt wrinkles his nose and glares at him.

“You’re going to make my room smell like smoke--”

  
“Kurt,” Blaine says, “I’m smoking out the window--”

  
“My dad’s going to find out and I’m going to be _grounded_ , Blaine--”

“Calm down,” Blaine says. “I’ll put it out if you really want, but I promise your dad won’t find a few flecks of ash in the bare dirt below your window. And I’ll put it out in the bathroom under water, so it won’t set anything on fire. And the window can stay open so you can air out the room, and I’ll wash my hands and use some mouthwash, I’ll even let you dress me in your clothes and wash what I’m wearing if you want, just--”

  
“You can’t tell anyone,” Kurt begins, and then cuts himself off, his mouth working soundlessly before he looks down at his hands.

“Tell anyone what?” Blaine asks.

Kurt looks over at him, uncertain, but in a moment he seems to make a decision, and he opens up like a pimpernel after rain, his eyes shining a little in the morning light, meeting Blaine’s without a barrier between them. Honest, perfectly, in that one moment.

  
“I like the smell of your cigarettes,” he says. “I used to hate smoke, but ever since I smelled it on your jacket I haven’t been able to stop wanting to smell it all the time.”

  
Blaine stares at him for a long moment, and it’s another pivotal moment, but he doesn’t stop to think this time. He _knows_ , instantly, what he wants to do, and there’s not a _what_ _if_ in sight.

He stubs the cigarette out on his boot, making sure the little embers go out the window and down to the bare dirt of the unplanted flower bed below him, and not onto a dry plant or the house itself. He lays the half-finished cigarette carefully on the sill, next to his pack and his lighter, so it doesn’t blow out. And then he stands up and walks over to Kurt, who watches him evenly, as though he can’t summon the will to be scared or unsure anymore.

“Come here,” Blaine says, and Kurt doesn’t seem to doubt following the simple order, letting Blaine handle it from there. He put himself out there--it’s Blaine turn now, and Blaine is happy to take it.

He takes Kurt’s hands and rubs his thumbs over Kurt’s knuckles, looking down at them and taking a deep breath before he looks up into Kurt’s eyes and drops his hold, bringing his hands up to Kurt’s cheeks as he leans in and kisses him.

  
Kurt gasps briefly, hands flying up to rest flat on Blaine’s arms, running very slowly back to his shoulders as he starts to kiss back. It’s...it’s slow, and it’s soft, and it’s not dirty or open or even moving very much. It’s just their lips pressed together, slotted, warm, their breath coming easy as they find a pattern in each other, matching the pull of the other’s lips until they pull away with the tiniest sound.

Kurt blinks rapidly when they’re far enough away to see each other clearly, but still close, holding each other, mouths open and lips just a little bit wet.

  
“Please tell me I’m not just a conquest, or a dare, or--”

  
Blaine shushes Kurt gently.

  
“I care about you, Kurt,” Blaine says, and it’s not easy, but there it is. There’s no way he’s going to let Kurt doubt this. “I want to be your friend--and I want to be more, if you let me. And it’s just between us--no dares, no gossip, we don’t even have to tell anyone if you don’t want to be seen with me--”  
  


“Of course I want to be seen with you,” Kurt says, like Blaine’s dumb, and Blaine smiles.  
  


“I’m going to kiss you again,” he announces, dropping his hands from Kurt’s face to his waist. “Then I want to go hang out at my place and order something for lunch, and then we’ll take a nap. I would like to kiss more whenever there’s a free moment in that plan as well, but that’s entirely up to you.”

Kurt takes a breath, and it’s like he’s really _breathing_.

  
“Okay.”


End file.
